


Dear

by coreopsis



Category: In Demand - Texas (Music Video)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-08
Updated: 2004-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-30 20:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3950806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coreopsis/pseuds/coreopsis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She picks him up when he comes back from a business trip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear

She dresses carefully because he's coming home tonight. New black dress, sexy shoes, her best perfume, and her favorite shawl that whispers across her bare skin like a secret or a dream. She could do up her hair for the party she must attend beforehand, but he likes it down, likes to touch and stroke it when he holds her close, so she leaves it loose about her face. 

She sees her ex as she leaves the party--not unexpected since they're in the same business and this is a professional function that she'd just as soon have skipped. When he admires the glow in her skin and the smile on her lips with wistful regret, she takes certain pleasure in informing him it's because her lover is returning from a business trip and she's on her way to meet him at the airport. She says goodbye and wonders if her ex is finally seeing just what he gave up. They could have been good together but he never really gave her a chance. She puts her ex from her mind as her driver opens her door. She slides into the back seat, anticipating the only man that really matters to her now. 

She doesn't get out of the car when he exits the terminal because the airport is always busy with too many people bustling around. She waits under the cover of darkness where no one can see, her shawl drawn across the lower part of her face so none of her fans are likely to catch a glimpse of her, but once he's seated beside her, cozy and solid, she lets the driver put the top down. The spring air feels much cooler as they ride through late night city streets but she has her coat draped like a blanket and his arms to keep her warm. 

He's tired from the trip and doesn't say much, so she just enjoys his company and the way his hands are never still, first stroking her hair away from her face then caressing her arm, her back, her neck, then touching her stomach and hip lightly with just his fingertips. For a brief moment she thinks back to the ex and she compares him with her lover, or really how she feels with each. Her lover treats her like an adult, a precious important presence in his life, like he loves her even when he forgets to say so. The ex treated her like a child, a passing fancy whose opinions were worth less than his own, like he was waiting for her to leave. And when she stopped being overwhelmed by him, she did. She glances up into her lover's face and smiles, glad he's here. 

She raises up to bring her mouth near his ear to say how much she missed him, and his fleeting smile and whispered agreement makes her feel warmer than anything else ever could. He calls her every night when he goes away, but it's never the same as when he's here, touching her. Not even making love, just touching. Light, firm, quick, or slow, his hands on her are the most amazing part of being here in this car with the top down, motorcycles flying by and helicopters overhead. He has lovely hands, strong and graceful and sure. Those hands make her feel safe and loved.

When they pull into the filling station for more petrol, there's tango music playing over the PA. She giggles at the absurdity and climbs out of the car to dance around and expel some of the giddiness that bubbles up inside her. Then he's pulling her shawl off and reeling her back into his arms, twirling her around in time to the music. Ignoring their surroundings, they move together, their steps as synchronized as if they've been dancing together for years. He spins her and pulls her tight against his body, his hands come deliciously close to her breasts before propriety wins out, she grasps his hips and wishes he'd taken off his jacket first. He looks handsome in his suit, but she'd rather see him out of it at the moment. 

She can't bring herself to care that they may be making a public spectacle. It's four in the morning and she's in love. That's all the excuse she really needs. And she loves to dance, so she does. They dip and twirl and come together so close that she can feel that he is not unmoved. She flirts and plays the seductress because he's so in control, so demanding, so...seductive. He controls the dance, manipulates her body in delicate ways, so she asserts her own control, shows him a glimpse of her power. Pulls him to her, then pushes him away--but never far. No, he's always there within reach and she touches him to let him know how she feels, how she loves, and she gets a shuddery breath and quick squeeze in return. 

She brings her mouth close to his, almost touching, almost kissing, but not quite. Just a whisper between them, a whisper that says soon, soon, soon, we'll be alone, I'll have you. She breathes in his breath and he hers, and they are as close as they've ever been. She remembers they're still in public and pulls away, an impish gleam in her eyes that isn't entirely faked for their possible audience. He's so cute when he gets heated up. 

He retrieves her shawl and wraps it gently around her shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment before he suggests they take a short walk to cool off. She tilts her head against his shoulder and they stroll along the quiet street, speaking in near-whispers, hesitant to break the hush of the impending dawn. His trip went badly, business losses that must be recovered, she never asks for details. He can't tell her anyway, so he tells her about the hotel and the beautiful fountains and the swans he saw that reminded him of her. She smiles and tells him he's becoming a romantic, but he shakes his head in mock horror. Anything but that. 

But she knows he is, it's in his face--his dear exhausted face-- when they get to his building and he tells her to give him ten minutes to put his things away before she comes up the back way. He takes his bags out of the car and gives her one more glance. Suddenly, she worries about how tired he seems, how much older he is than she, how very much she missed him while he was gone. It scares her for a moment, this depth of feeling, this huge and terrifying love she's found. He suddenly seems fragile, almost ephemeral, where before he was strong, substantial, enduring. That human frailty is something she never expected. 

But then she never really expected him to love her, either. 

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> This was born in the days of LJ when some of my friendslist and I were squeeing over Alan Rickman in a succession of picspams (remember those pre-tumblr? good times.) with movie and video recs and links flying back and forth. It didn't even have a title until I put it here, so forgive the lack of creativity on that front.


End file.
